The Great Curl Debacle
by Triangular Prism
Summary: What's this? The Bad Touch Trio have made their most daring  dangerous  plan yet… A worldwide rampage pulling every gravity-defying curl of hair they can find!
1. Basement Boredom

**Title:** The Great Curl Debacle

**Fandom: **Axis Powers: Hetalia

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Comedy

**Pairing: **None?

**Summary: **What's this? The Bad Touch Trio have made their most daring (dangerous) plan yet… A worldwide rampage pulling every gravity-defying curl of hair they can find!

**Disclaimer: **Lemme check… Nope, don't own yet. I'm working on it, though

**Opening A/N: **-can't talk for all her laughing- … Anyhow, my next story is up! Seriously though, what's with me and parody…

**The Great Curl Debacle**

_**An Axis Powers: Hetalia Fanfic by Triangular Prism**_

**Chapter Zero : Basement Boredom

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**

It is a fact that great plans come from great boredom. It is also fact that these great plans are not always beneficial. Particularly since this one, masterful, _dangerous _plan was born in the mind of one sharp, cunning, and deviously bored individual with too much time on his hands.

Hereon forth, known as Prussia.

One cloudy, rainy day saw the three members of the 'Bad Touch Trio,' France, Prussia, and Spain respectively, all lounging around the various pieces of furniture in Prussia's house.

Well, Germany's house. Prussia's basement. It was rather large and all, so the albino ex-Nation had taken it upon himself to furnish the allotted space exactly how he wanted… But that is not the issue. The issue at hand was that all three Nations were absolutely positively _bored._

Boredom + Bad Touch Trio = not a good combination.

"Hey France, you got any idea what to do right now?" Prussia mumbled from underneath a dirty magazine, stretched out across a wide sofa with his arm hanging off the side. France blinked and looked up from the counter where he sat, half-nodding off.

"_Non, _I do not," he said sleepily, and allowed his head to fall back on his arms. Meanwhile, Spain was happily mashing away on a controller, eyes glued to Prussia's wide-screen television and Xbox, seemingly oblivious to the other two.

"_Ni una bruja, una vez más ... No debe sorprender, no debe sorprender_..." he mumbled under his breath, then let out a despairing cry. "Ahh! No no no, I didn't even go _near _it!"

The Game Over screen flashed, and he dropped his head in his hands.

"THIS SUCKS!" The porno magazine was suddenly thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a dull _thud _before sliding to the ground. France jerked up at the noise, and Spain looked over questioningly.

"What's wrong, _mi amigo_?" he began, and Prussia swung around to sit, staring moodily at the stairway leading up to Germany's part of the house. Or _territory_, as his younger brother liked to stress.

"What's wrong? I'm freaking bored out of my mind, that's what's wrong!" the albino wailed, flopping dramatically backwards. "Why does West always kick me down here whenever Italy's over? Dammit!"

"Oh? Italy's here, is that it?" France perked up visibly.

"Yeah. If he wanted to hardcore make-out or something, I'd get it, but seriously they never _do _anything," Prussia grumbled, "Besides Italy making pasta or something. Seriously!" He strangled the air. "West needs to make a move already. Italy's just so damn cute, why's he holding back?"

With that he flopped back down on the couch.

"Hohoho… perhaps the two of them need a push in the ways of _l'amour_?" the French Nation was meanwhile chuckling, a suspicious glint in his eyes. Spain had set his game controller aside, muttering about jockeys and chargers before scooting closer to join in the conversation.

"Don't bother, he'll kick you out. It's happened to me enough times… stupid _bruder_. Seriously, he needs to get laid." Prussia yawned, looking for all the world like an indifferent teenager. "Prude. For a closet pervert he's still kinda clueless. It was awesome when— Wait! You guys know what Italy's curl is, right?" At this he looked up, suddenly excited. Both France and Spain laughed and nodded knowingly at the question.

"Lovi's curl is like that too," Spain sang, "Of course I figured it out by accident, and he wouldn't talk to me for so long after that…"

"Heh. That's basically what happened to West. He pulled the curl; Italy got all- y'know, and the look on West's face when he found out, _hilarious!_ Oh _gott, _best thing ever!"

The three Nations had a private chuckle over this. It was common knowledge what exactly the curls of the Italy brothers were. As France started babbling about spreading _l'amour _to those in need, and Spain poked the crumbled porn magazine on the floor, Prussia allowed his thoughts to drift. Those curls really were the weirdest things. Nobody knew why that acted as… erogenous zones, or how they even managed to stick up. It was like they defined gravity. Not to mention they weren't the only ones to have those curls; a bunch of different nations had some sort of strange defect with their hair. Japan called them _ahoge, _whatever that meant… Did all the other curls act as erogenous zones? Woah, that would be….

…Fun to find out…

It was at this exact moment, sitting on a couch in the basement of his brother's house, that the first inklings of the devious plan began to grow in the dark corners of Prussia's mind. Neither France nor Spain seemed to notice when the ex-Nation sat up bolt-right, his mouth hanging open as the gears rapidly spun around and around, until everything became clear in one beautiful, split second.

And thus the world was doomed…

"_MEIN GOTT_!"

Startled, the other two members of the Bad Touch Trio turned their attention to the third and final member. Prussia had leapt upon the cushions, reds eyes over bright and sparkling.

"You guys!" he bellowed, "I've got an idea! The most frickin' awesome idea _in the world_!"

"…You do?" Spain titled his head. "Should I be worried? You've got that look in your eyes again…"

"Look! Look! Everyone knows what Italy's curl does, right? And Romano's?" the albino said excitedly, jumping to the floor and beckoning France closer. Intrigued, France did so, sliding from the counter to listen to this supposed awesome plan.

"Well, what about the _other _curls?" Prussia went on, gesturing wildly. "What do _they _do? No one's ever known, no one's ever tried! You guys, do you get it?"

"I… Think I know where this is headed, _mon ami_!" France's eyes widened slowly as he caught on. A wicked grin spread across his face, right as the idea dawned in Spain's mind.

"You can't possibly mean…!"

"Exactly! We go on a worldwide rampage…" the mastermind pounded a fist on the floor, sending vibrations through the surface.

"…AND PULL EVERY CURL OF EVERY NATION THERE IS!"

A map had been roughly pulled from the wall and spread across the floor, corners secured as the three Nations poured over the countries of the world.

"Okay. So obviously, there's Italy and Romano," Prussia began, marking the respective Nations with a heavy marker. "We can start with them first since we already know what they do."

"I'll be the one to take care of Lovi!" Spain interjected, raising a hand, "I don't want you guys near his cute little curl!"

"Okay, fine. Next, our neighborhood. We'll loop around and nab Austria as soon as Hungary's out of the way. France, you'll be the distraction."

"What? Why me?"

"…Oh man, dibs on Mariazel! Kesesesese, It'll be like Silesia all over again!"

Prussia rubbed his hands together in glee, before continuting.

"Who else has a curl? I know Norway does, that little one off to the side, but he's kinda far north…"

"Greece has one," the suggestion was put forth by Spain again, "The weird one that splits off, right?"

"Oh yeah! Okay, Greece…"

"…And actually, Turkey has the same kind of curl by his neck…" the Spaniard seemed a little less enthusiastic at the mention of this. Prussia tapped the map and marked off Greece and Turkey respectively.

"Greece is going to be easy. He sleeps all the time. Turkey though…"

"It'll have to be hard, and fast," France sigh with a shake of his head, "Before he has the chance to stop us."

"Got it. Okay, I think that's all for Europe, so… next up, Asia!"

"South Korea!" Both Spain and France shouted at the same time, and thus the country was marked by a chuckling Prussia.

"Hey, do you think… Taiwan counts?" he asked thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "She's sorta got one. It's kinda long and hangs down, but it does crinkle at the end… I'll just add her…"

"I might have to be the one to pull her curl." The expression on France's face suddenly darkened as he grinned. Spain discreetly shifted away.

"Pervert. Right, add Norway, who'll be freaking fun, and then we can move over to North America! Our tour will end with America, and, uh…"

"_Amérique_? You would count Nantucket?"

"Well, yeah, it sticks up doesn't it? Might as well give it a shot. But guys…"

Prussia frowned deeply, suddenly lost in thought. "…Who was that other guy? I think he lives above America… He's got that mad crazy curl that loops, but… uh, Ca…ken…Kenya? No…"

"Huh? Someone lives up there? Isn't it just the North Pole…?" Spain tried to think as well, wrinkling his brow in concentration. "Uhhh… Canadia…?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten Canada?" France finally burst out in horror, staring at the other two with an expression of disbelief. "_Mon petite _Mathieu? America's brother? How could you?"

"CANADA! That was it!" Prussia shouted, pumping a fist in the air, and France facepalmed in misery.

"As his papa I must be the one to pull his curl!" He pouted, shooting a look at both of them.

Meanwhile, Prussia had successfully marked each and everyone country on the map, connecting them all with a bold line. He jumped to his feet, and stared gleefully down, proud of his handy work.

"Okay you guys, this is it!" he crowed in triumph. "This is gonna be the best… plan… _EVER!_"

* * *

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.

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***All translations are through Google Translate, so…**

_Ni una bruja, una vez más ... No debe sorprender, no debe sorprender_...**:** "Not another witch, again… must not startle, must not startle…" Can you guess what game he's playing? XD

The rest you've probably picked up over time.

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Target One: Trieste

**Target One : Trieste (Northern Italy/Veneziano)

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**

With all the stealth of a spy from one of England's movies, the Bad Touch Trio filed up to the stairway that lead out of Prussia's basement… and into enemy territory. The map holding their planned conquests was firmly tucked in Prussia's back pocket, within easy reach for when they needed it again. The quest had began, and all three Nations couldn't help but count this among their many war campaigns of the past.

Target number one: Italy's curl.

"Okay, here's how it goes," Prussia hissed once the trio had reached the heavy door leading up to the rest of the house. "West isn't gonna stand for this, so… if Italy's alone, we'll pull it and get out. If Germany's in the same room, one of you create a diversion and lead him away. Got it?"

France and Spain nodded, faces visibly tight with anticipation. In a way this was the most dangerous hit, because of the factor that was Germany. One wrong move, and…

"Three… two… one… GO!" the curt whisper ordered with military precision, and abruptly Prussia burst through the basement door. In a flash all three of them piled into what was Germany's kitchen, alert and ready to pull some curl, when all of a sudden…

"Ve, hi Prussia! Hi big brother France and Spain!"

The trio promptly tumbled to the floor. Italy was smack right there in the kitchen, cheerfully stirring something on the stove with a big wooden spoon and wearing a white apron. A tantalizing scent wafted up in a wisp of steam as the Nation sampled whatever he was cooking and nodded in a satisfied manner before giving his full attention to his new visitors.

"Uh… oh hey, Ita-cakes!" Prussia recovered first, springing to his feet in an overly exaggerated manner, "We were just popping up to, y'know, see what you and _bruder _were up too! Right guys?" He shot a pointed look at his partners in crime, and they quickly nodded with large, fake grins.

"Well, you're just in time! I was just cooking up some pasta, so when Germany gets back we can all eat lunch together!" Italy said happily, looking forward to a big meal with friends.

He was blissfully unaware of Prussia's slowly spreading grin, France's darkening Raep Face, and Spain's wide, sparkling eyes.

"Wait, West isn't… here?" the albino asked slowly, and poor ignorant Italy shook his head.

"Nope! he went to the store since I was missing some ingredients. Did you need him for something?"

"_Non_, Italy, rather, it was _you _we were looking for!" France couldn't contain himself and burst into a series of evil chuckles. Prussia rolled his eyes and smacked him over the head, to much protest.

"Yeah, like France said. I really hope you don't mind if we borrow you for a second, sweetie," Prussia slid smoothly to Italy's side and clamped a firm arm around his shoulders, drawing him away from the stove. The smaller Nation tilted his head in question.

"Ve?"

"Okay guys! Here we are, with target number one!" the ex-Nation beamed at the other two members of the Bad Touch Trio, and Spain whistled in anticipation. "I will now present the adorable Northern Italy, or Veneziano, along with his…" Prussia paused. "Psst. Hey Italy, about your curl…"

Italy flinched, a cute little blush staining his cheeks.

"Huh? W-what about it?" he stammered, and it took all Prussia had not to jump him on the spot.

"Well, does it, y'know… represent anything? I've been kind of curious about that."

"Oh!" Now the Nation seemed a little relieved. "Well… It's Trieste…"

"…Along with his curl, Trieste!" the albino promptly yelled, completely his statement. "Camera ready, guys!"

"Ready! _Allez!_" France held up the item, nodding furiously.

"Eh? Eh? Ve, what are you guys—" Italy asked, flustered and staring at all of them trying to figure out what was going on, when…

Prussia grabbed his curl.

Just like that.

With an expert hand he reached up and _tugged _on that curl of hair, now known to be Trieste, and the blush on Italy's face darkened into so much more.

"Aa-h! P-Prussia, no, not there…!" he whimpered, and a camera flash went off as France and Spain burst into barely controlled laughter.

"S-So cute! It's just like Romano!" Spain was gasping, trying to control himself yet failing miserably.

"I know you like it, Italy~" Prussia meanwhile crooned, giving another tug. Italy's knees seemed to go weak as he dipped alarmingly. Little whines escaped his mouth, his face flushed in all sorts of red. He was trying to speak, but the words only came out as meaningless babbles in Italian, and after a third tug he ceased speaking all together.

"Ah, so cute! Kesesesese—"

The Trio was so busy laughing and taking pictures that they didn't hear the far-off slam of the front door, or the heavy clomping of footsteps up the hallway, until it was far too late for all of them.

"Italy? I forgot my wallet… Is someone in there with—?"

At once the Bad Touch Trio fell silent as Germany appeared on the threshold in all his glory. The Nation froze at the scene before him.

There was a minute of very tense and awkward silence.

It was promptly broken as a tiny moan slipped unbidden from Italy's mouth, since despite the sudden peril, Prussia still had not released his curl. Things very quickly turned to chaos.

"PRUSSIA!" Germany roared, and lunged forward with every intention of throttling his older brother. Sensing impending doom, France and Spain darted forwards themselves for dear life, shamelessly leaving Prussia behind. The albino shrieked, and in a moment of quick thinking he shoved Italy forward. The poor Italian, whose curl was finally released, stumbled directly into the path of the oncoming Germany. This effectively halted the tall man's charge out of concern for his friend, and the slight delay was all Prussia needed to sprint out of the kitchen after the retreating backs of his friends.

"_BRUDER, _GET BACK HERE! AND YOU TWO, DON'T THINK YOU'LL ESCAPE!" Directly on the albino's heels came his brother, murder glinting in his eyes as all four Nations went crashing through the house of Germany knocking over anything that wasn't tied down.

"Where's the door? _¿Dónde está la puerta!_"

"There! _That way that way!_"

"Oh Gott he's right behind meeee!"

The Bad Touch Trio burst into the streets, where a merciful break in the rain allowed them clear visage. Here, home free at last they ran as if hell itself were at their heels. They left behind a livid Germany on the door step, bellowing in his native tongue words that shall not be written by the author in fear of teaching the audience naughty words in German.

Thus they complete their very first conquest, and when at last the trio slowed to a halt, panting a wheezing, they took a moment to look at each other— and promptly burst into laughter all over again.

"That-Was-AWESOME!" Prussia choked, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. France was curled on the ground in silent mirth, and waving the camera around with glee. "I have the whole thing, right here! Oh, what beautiful film! I cannot wait to develop it!"

This set them off into a fresh wave a hysterical laughter. Still shaking, Prussia pulled the map from his pocket, and crossed out the northern half of Italy with his bold marker.

"Okay, so next in line… ROMANO!"

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**Kesesesese. The terror begins. **

**What is Trieste, you wonder? It's a city in the northern half of Italy. I figured since that most of the other curls have some sort of name/representation, I'd assign a place to the Italian brothers for the sake of this story. From here on forth, Italy's curl is now Trieste~ New headcannon anyone? **


	3. Target Two: Messina

**Target Two: Messina (Southern Italy/Romano)**

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**

An hour's trek to the southern half of Italy gave them a disappointing outcome; Italy Romano was nowhere to be found. Three nations puzzled over this, as any other time the fiery Italian would have met them head on, demanding to know why they were in his house, but no… this did not happen, threatening to put a halt to the next planned conquest. An emergency huddle was held, until Spain cheerfully remembered that the Italian nation was quite possibly still lounging at his own house, having been there for the entirety of the whole last week.

Foreheads were slapped, but the Bad Touch Trio obligingly spent the next few hours tramping back across Italy, crossing through France's lower regions, and at last, entering the thankfully-sunny land of Spain's house.

Spain wasted no time in beginning the search.

"Romanoooooo!" he called loudly, and instantly his companions dragged him down, shushing furiously.

"Idiot! You want him to know we're here?" Prussia hissed, keeping his hand firmly clamped over the Spaniard's mouth.

"Mmmph?" Spain was confused.

"Listen to the man. Your little friend is not going to be as easy as his brother," France whispered furtively from the other side.

After a moment of thought, Spain nodded, stop midway, and then frowned under Prussia's hand, pulling it away a second later.

"…But… _amigo, _won't it be better if he _knows _I'm coming?" he said somewhat hesitantly, "Since after all… I don't think he'll really trust us if we _all _suddenly turn up, you know?"

The other crusaders blinked.

"…Huh. Maybe you're right," Prussia mused, "As soon as he sees France's ugly mug he'll know something's up right away!"

"_Non! _I protest, it would be you who would scare him off!" France spluttered, quite affronted by the comment, while Spain shrugged, assumed he had won his case, and set off again cheerfully.

* * *

As it turned out, they spied Romano working in the tomato fields outside of Spain's actual house. They quickly dodged into the bushes before he noticed.

"Ahh~ isn't he so cute?" the Spanish Nation swooned neatly into the dirt. Even his friends had to agree with that sentiment. The Southern half of Italy was hard at work under the hot sun, concentrating on picking ripe fruits from the vine and depositing them in the basket at his side. Sweat ran down tanned skin and under the white shirt he wore, pulled open at the collar.

"He's such a sweetie! I said I had to go through and harvest when I got back, and here he is getting started all on his own, without my help!" Spain gushed, the pride showing clearly in his voice. He made as if to dash from the bushes and hug his former protégé on the spot, but once again the others dragged him back.

"Easy, we need at least _some _sort of plan, don't we?" Prussia whispered urgently, but Spain only laughed.

"You two stay in the bushes. Just leave it to me," he sang, and before they could stop him for a third time, he simply stood up and made his way out of their hiding place, striding fearlessly towards the target.

"_Hola, _Lovi! _¿Cómo estás?"_

At the sound of his voice floating through the air, Romano shot from his work, spinning around so quickly he nearly fell right back down again. Already his face was reddening in the trademark sign of his temper as Spain stopped, looked down at the basket at his feet, and grinned.

"Huh? Romano, you started picking the tomatoes? That's so sweet of you!" he gasped, eyes widening in the perfect picture of innocence.

"G-Goddammit Spain, I thought you weren't coming back until later!" the southern half of Italy was stuttering, mortified at being caught doing a good deed.

Meanwhile, Prussia and France were pushing twigs and leaves out of the way for France's camera.

"Man, he's better at this than I thought." The albino was watching with raised eyebrows, clearly impressed. France was impatient, tutting through his teeth and muttering for Spain to get on with it.

And get on with it was what Spain did. In the middle of Romano's angry tirade, he paused the nation with a cheerful and faintly apologetic, "Sorry about this, Lovi!" before reaching over and tugging on his curl.

Effects were instantaneous…

Romano's face flushed the bright red shade of the fruits around him.

"YEAAAH!" came the happy cry from the bushes as Prussia burst upwards cheering. France came right behind, madly clicking away on the camera. Romano's eyes widened just as they began to tear from the pressure of Spain's hand on his 'special spot,' only to lose himself in a whimpering stream of curses.

"Eheheheh! Romano, do you know how cute you are?" Spain's face was flushing suspiciously as well, the look in his eyes changing from adoration to something else.

"Y-Y-You what are y-you… Chigiiii!" The Italian nation's knees were wobbling dangerously, just as his brother's had a few short hours ago.

"Just like his brother, honhonhon!"

"Dangit! I really want to pull a curl now!"

"He really does look like a tomato, doesn't he? Ahahahaha~"

The Bad Touch Trio had converged, laughing at their second conquest, as Romano's face grew darker and darker. It was the last comment from Spain that unfortunately set him off.

"SPAIN YOU BASTAAAAAARD!" With a roar, a knee came sweeping up to nail the offending nation directly in the stomach. The breath left him in a whoosh of air. An elbow to the spine sent him tumbling to the ground, where an irate Romano promptly began to wale on him like never before.

"_Idiota! _I hate you! What the hell are you doing_? Vaffanculo, _and go die in a hole, you piece of—!"

"Ow! B-But Lovi—Owww, Lovi it huuuurts!"

This went on, each curse delivered with a swift kick or a punch to poor Spain, quite defenseless as his two friends stood back with blank faces.

"…Well." Prussia flinched, "That's gonna bruise in the morning."

"Ah, well, he knew what he was getting into," France said vaguely, and snapped a picture.

After the dust had settled, the nation was left crumpled on the ground as Romano panted, the color in his face red as ever, at last spinning on his heel and marching away.

"Don't you _dare _come back tonight, _Spain! _I don't want to _see _you around here _ever again!_" he shrieked over his shoulder, while Spain reached out a trembling hand in agony.

"L-Lovi… Y-You can't kick me out, this is my house!" he wailed, but all he received were more curses, and the very clear statement, "You're sleeping on the _couch _for the _rest of your life!_"

Finally, all that was left were the three members of the Bad Touch Trio, two of which were snickering as they helped the third to his feet.

"Hoo boy, he's got you whipped, man!"

"That was… quite a performance your little lover boy put on, _hmmm_? Now I'm glad that you were the one to offer, _mon ami~_"

Spain only mumbled something in despair, thoroughly depressed as he was dragged off, the three of them departing eastwards for their third target. Two down... So many more to go.

* * *

Meanwhile, a vehement Southern Italy was dashing through the kitchen for the phone, madder than a wet hen and swearing that he had just heard the perverts mention his northern half in passing. Rapidly dialing the phone, he sword by god there would be hell to pay if they had dared mess with his _fratello!_

_

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**The Delicious Tomato Song… heheheheh… -loops- anyway, you guys spoil me too much! Fifty reviews for two chapters, wut? Thank you to all who read/reviewed/alerted! Muchos Gracias~ -throws kisses-**

**Messina is a town in Sicily, Italy, and thus the name I chose for his curl.**


	4. Interlude One: Seborga

**Interlude One: Seborga**

* * *

With the Italy brothers respectively taken care of, and Spain in a state of despair, the remaining pair of the Trio decided to take a quick detour. Hastily revised target? The Micro-Nation of Seborga. With his curious, square-like curl (and could it be called a curl if it were square?) it simply could not be ignored on their world conquest.

Squarelike was it was, it reacted more or less the same as his cousins.

"Th-This isn't even _fair!_" he wailed/moaned under the pressure of Prussia's hand, "You aren't even a-a-a cute _girl!_"

"Life ain't fair, kid," the albino snickered, "At least you can say you were… uh… groped by the awesome me, _ja?_"

France _hon'd, _busily snapping pictures, and Spain sigh miserably, still stuck on Romano's harsh rejection.


	5. Target Three: Mariazell

**Target Three: Mariazell (Austria)**

* * *

"Uhhhh… Hey, guys? There's really only one problem about this." Prussia's voice spoke up in the silence, as the albino stared uneasily over the lens of his binoculars.

"What do you mean?" Spain looked down at him from his position in the tree, puzzled. By now his injuries had recovered from last chapter's escapade, as well has his depression, leaving the nation good-natured and ready to pull some curl once again. Only now, Prussia was feeling apprehensive.

"Well, it's just that… Austria's curl isn't his erogenous zone," he said frankly, shooting another peek through the scope.

"W-What?" France burst up from below, twigs and leaves stuck in his blond hair for better camouflage. "We're staking out here for nothing? Why didn't you mention this earlier?" He put a hand to his head in exaggerated pain. "_Mon Dieu_, and I was looking forward to it!"

However, Prussia only snickered, sending another glance into the elegant living room of Austria's house. "Well, if that's all you're looking for, you gotta touch his mole. _That's _the real erogenous zone, but what the curl does… I don't have a freaking clue." He shrugged. "I have dibs on it, by the way."

"To which I _do _protest—"

"There he is!" Spain interrupted with a sudden shout, straightening rapidly. Words were abandoned as the trio quickly lifted their lens.

Sure enough, far below in the house of Austria a certain brown-haired individual of the same name was pacing into view, looking as if to settle down at a large piano. Quite typical. And best of all, his back was turned towards them- once the Nation became involved in his music, almost nothing would distract him.

Now was the hour. Through unspoken agreement the trio slipped from their places, gliding silently through undergrowth like ghosts. All focused completely, with the exception of France; in a manner uncharacteristic of him, the Frenchman appeared to be looking around warily.

"What's with you? I thought _you'd _be up front," Prussia whispered, as they paused directly below Austria's window.

"It is… nothing. Just…" France frowned. "Last time I was here on a similar mission, Hungary brained me with her frying pan, shouting something about God…"

"Pfft. Lucky you we haven't seen her at all, pal."

"Shh!"

Above them, the piano music issuing from the room inside had paused— Whether of an innocent cause, or their whispers actually drifting all the way to the aristocrat's ears, it was all the signal they needed.

With a collective war-cry, all three of the Bad Touch Trio went crashing directly through Austria's window in a shower of glass. Austria spun around violently, eyes widening as he recognized the attackers, but it was far too late for any action. In a matter of seconds, he was pinned to the ground with Prussia's weight square on his back.

"What-What in the world!" he shrieked, "PRUSSIA!"

"Spain! Camera ready?" Prussia ignored him, cackling. Spain held up the device nodding.

"_Si._ Sorry about the window," the Spaniard added as an afterthought to the struggling Austria.

"Get off me this instant! I swear, when I tell your brother of this—"

"The halls are clear!" France called cheerfully. The solid doors to Austria's music room were closed and barred, the lock clicking ominously.

"Keseseses! Hey Austria, remember Silesia? Those were good times…" Prussia continued to laugh, reaching for the fly-away curl… only to be stopped by a serious-faced France.

"Hey, I wanted to pull. You guys have gotten everyone else so far," he pouted. Austria continued to swear underneath them, completely ignored.

"…Ugh. Fine. I suppose this once…" Grudgingly, the Prussian pulled back. (Still remaining firmly seated on Austria, though.)

France's eyes lit up with a gleam that could only be called… startling as he crouched down, his own chuckle entering the space.

"Wh-What are you doing with me?" Austria stammered, eyes widening in horror as France loomed overhead.

"_Honhonhonhon._ Don't worry, this won't hurt _one… single… bit!_"

Of course, with this statement the three of them had anticipated for _something _to happen. As France's hand shot forward, the other two tensed, Prussia's stance tightening and Spain readying the camera for action.

So when absolutely _nothing happened _the moment after Mariazell was captured, there was a full minute of expectant silence.

"What. That's… it?" Spain blinked. "I know you said it wasn't an erogenous zone, but I kinda thought there'd be some reaction…"

"Excuse me, but what exactly are you trying to accomplish here?" Austria spoke up, completely unaffected. Meanwhile, France had lost his frightening expression, to be replaced with a look of utter disappointment as he tugged the curl once more.

"What a let-down," he grumbled, "It's just a piece of hair."

"Wait! No, it does something… quick, pull it again!"

Prussia seemed to have spotted something, and with some interest the trio watched as the hair, under pressure in France's hand, performed a curious move— once released, it straightened, going as straight and rigid as a piece of wire before relaxing back.

"Huh. Wonder if it means anything?" Spain played with the hair himself, flicking it back and forth.

"Guess this raid was a bust, guys," Prussia sigh, "If you still want a reaction you can just poke his mole or something."

"That might be better than nothing…"

Bent in examination over the strange behavior of Mariazell, the attention of all was captured enough to prevent the notice of a dark, angry aura creeping ominously through the atmosphere... and the large, black shape that appeared subsequently through the ruin of the broken

Until the black shape heaved one foot on the edge, and launched itself through.

A scream of rage rent the air, and the trio whipped around, clapping hands over their ears in pain, eyes wide as they saw…

"PRUSSSIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"OH, SH—"

Bearing down on them all, was a seething Hungary. Hair billowing back, face contorted, her dreaded frying pan of doom was held aloft, and instantly the three scattered— scrambling for safety as the frying pan missed by the skin by fractions and instead created a lovely, smoking crater in the hardwood flooring.

"RUN! RUN!" Prussia yelped, although none of them needed any further bidding. France was already halfway out the window, and the albino was right behind him. They could feel the metal of the frying pan at their very heels, as together they high-tailed out the window and hit the ground running into the safety of the forest.

"GET BACK HERE! I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GONNA CLOBBER YOU ALL!" Hungary was yelling, and they ran as if the devil himself were behind them.

* * *

It was some miles before they finally stopped. They keeled over collectively, clutching stitches in their sides as they gasped for breath. For some explicable reason Hungary had chased them all this way. It seemed they'd finally lost her, but…

"_Gott!_" Prussia finally choked out, his lungs burning. "I've never seen her so… so… _pissed off _before…"

"She's not chasing us, right? We've lost her, right?" France whimpered, curled into a fetal position on the ground.

"Ahh! We really were in danger for that one, weren't we?" Spain laughed weakly, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Look, if you're quite tired, would you at least let me go? I can't believe I've been kidnapped by you ingrates!" Austria demanded, struggling against the makeshift ties around his hands.

Prussia and France did a double-take.

"WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?" They demanded in unison, as Spain looked confused.

"Huh? I dunno, I just grabbed him before we ran. Guess I didn't really think about it." He gave them a silly grin, scratching his head sheepishly.

"Ugh. Great. Now she'll really be hunting us." Shoulders slumped, a gloom descended over the ex-nation's figure.

"Just dump him here. Problem solved," France grunted, but Spain shook his head, looking thoughtfully at Austria's curl. In the chase, Mariazell had frizzed slightly at the ends, but didn't seem worse for wear. "I'd still like to see what it does, exactly. It must go straight like that for a reason, right?"

He snatched the hair, smoothing it along his palm.

"Would you quit that already?" Austria protested, but his words went unheard for at that exact moment Hungary inexplicably came launching out of the bushes, murder on her face.

"THERE YOU ARE!"

"WAAAAAAAAAH!"

Another chase hastily ensued.

"H-How did she know where we were?" Prussia cursed, gritting his teeth as he ran with a certain aristocrat slung bodily over his shoulder.

"How should I know? _M-Mon Dieu, _she's a psychic!" Tears were streaming from France's eyes as a particularly close swing clipped a few strands of hair from his head.

"Y-YOU GUYS!" In a brave motion, Spain seized a handful of dirt from the forest floor, whipping it over his shoulder. Hungary spluttered, skidding to a halt as she was temporarily blinded. When her sight cleared… the Trio (plus Austria) was nowhere to be seen.

Unbeknownst to the angry nation, the three were hiding very, very quietly in the branches of a very large tree. Prussia's hands were clamped firmly over Austria's mouth to prevent his calling for help. They waited with bated breath, watching Hungary spin around, stamping her feet in frustration.

"_I…I don't think there's any way out of this…" _Prussia murmured, very quietly. "_It was nice knowing you guys… you were the awesomest friends ever…" _

"_Non! Don't talk like that!" _France hissed back. "_Listen… I will sacrifice myself so that you two can escape…"_

"_No, I took Austria! I'll stay behind, you two run…" _

"_Shut the hell up! None of us are doing any sacrificing! We started this together, we'll go down together!"_

"…_That sounds rather like you're dragging us down with you, you know…" _

"_Shhhh!" _

They froze. Hungary had paused, almost directly beneath them. Austria wiggled in vain, small sounds issuing from behind Prussia's hands. Hungary was looking, back and forth, closer and closer, when…

France's eyes widened.

"_Wait!"_

Hungary glanced around.

"_Is she sniffing the air…?"_

"_No! Could it be… both of you! On the count of three, drop _him _and make a break for it!" _

"_I said no sacrifices!" _

"_That's not it! Just be quiet!" _

France's hand was suddenly wavering above, yet again, Mariazell. He seemed to be waiting. In a moment of anxiety-ridden silence, he watched… as Hungary passed from their tree and wandered a few more feet away. Then, he pulled.

The very moment Mariazell straightened, Hungary was gone from zero velocity to impossible speeds, eyes blazing as she snapped around to stare_ directly at their hiding place. _Then she was running, frying pan raised—

"THREE!" France roared out. Prussia's hands flew from Austria's mouth, while Spain simultaneously shoved him from their perch. The Austrian was free, but only to fall, screaming, down the height of the tree. The look in Hungary's eyes turned to alarm. As she changed trajectory to catch, only an afterimage was left of the three members of the Bad Touch Trio, disappearing well into the distance.

* * *

"…What, so his curl was some sort of… homing-device?"

Sprinting along the roads leading away from Austria, and into the regions of the Balkans, Prussia was scowling deeply, trying to wrap his head around the concept."

"_Oui, _I think that was indeed the case," France nodded, "Think—she only came after us _after _we pulled his curl. And when we were up that tree, she didn't notice until after it was pulled."

"That's just… strange," the ex-nation grumbled, "When did it get that sort of power, anyway? Those guys haven't known each other _that _long."

"Eheheh, I think you're just jealous."

"Shut up!"

* * *

…**I HAVE NO EXCUSE FOR PROCRASTINATION ;_;**


End file.
